Preppers of the Apocalypse - Part 1: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Read online

  Preppers of the Apocalypse – Part 1

  A story of post-apocalyptic EMP survival

  Chapter 1

  A few people watched Ash Hobbes as he drove his Mercedes into the parking lot of the mayor’s office. It wasn’t much of a lot and it wasn’t much of an office, but what else did he expect from a town like this? The bystanders, a guy in a checked shirt with a pack of smokes in his pocket, and a woman with a skirt so short that it barely covered her thighs, were joined by another couple of men. They all stared at Ash with their noses screwed up in anger.

  They want to kill me, he thought. And I don’t blame them.

  It was a sunny day, but the mood of Pasture Down couldn’t have been gloomier. The life savings of half its residents had been wiped out almost overnight after a promising looking investment had gone bust. Or Ash had told them it was promising, at least. The fact was that he’d swindled them out of as much money as he could.

  Ash got out of his car and clicked the lock button. The bleep seemed to distract the bystanders for a few seconds, but before long their burning stares were back on him. His expensive car was the biggest one in the lot, and the gleam when the sunlight hit it was blinding. It was funny how tastes changed. He remembered when he and dad once spent a year fixing up an old Dodge. He wondered if the old man still did that kind of stuff. Ash used to be good with hands, but he’d let them go soft. If they had even spoken in the last fifteen years, his dad would have given him hell for that.

  “You better get out our money back, asshole,” shouted the man with the cigarettes in his pocket.

  The crowd of four had turned into seven now. Was that enough for them to be called a mob? Ash had never had a mob after him before. He’d been chased out of one town, three years ago, but that had been by a drunken guy in a pickup truck. Ash had made him eat dust.

  Inside the building, the mayor showed him through to his office and took a seat. He didn’t invite Ash to sit, but that wasn’t exactly unexpected. The mayor had been voted into his position through a slew of promises to the town, number one being the boosting of their economy. He’d invested heavily in Ash’s scheme using chamber funds, and when it all went south he found himself running the town at a deficit. Judging by how luxurious his chair was, it didn’t seem like his office decorating budget had taken a hit.

  The mayor pulled open his drawer and poured out a brandy. Ash would have loved one, but if a drink wasn’t on offer then he wasn’t going to ask.

  “I can tell you’re busy,” he said, diplomatically. “So I won’t stay.”

  “Gimme the short of it.”

  The mayor had a bald head but it seemed like his eyebrows had tried to compensate for it, because they had grown to nearly twice the size of a normal person’s. Every time he finished speaking he did a little scrunching movement with his nose and then took a sip of brandy. He wore a suit but the tie was loosened as though he’d already done a hard day’s work, despite it only being lunchtime.

  “Well I guess if I’m getting straight to the point, said Ash, “I better say that it’s gone. Everyone who put in a dime, you included Mr. Mayor, is coming up short. The investment tanked. These things happen, you know? Rise and fall, boom and bust. The market is wild and sometimes you get burned.”

  The mayor’s face started to get red, and his sips of the brandy became more frequent until finally he screwed his nose up and then tipped the glass toward his mouth and drained it.

  “You’re a few words away from a hiding,” he said.

  Ash folded his arms. He’d been here before. The threats were usually empty.

  “With the way things are going across the shore,” he said, “we Americans gotta stick together. So I’m not going to leave you high and dry. If I see anything else that could turn some green for you, I’ll sail it your way.”

  “You mean to say the money’s all gone?” said the mayor.

  Ash nodded.

  Nearly there, he thought. Just get through the next uncomfortable five minutes and I’m out of here.

  The mayor picked up his glass then slammed it down on the table.

  “Then you better get the hell out of my office,” he said.

  In the parking lot, the mob had swollen until it became a throng of furious faces. Say what you will about me, thought Ash, but I can sure bring a community together. There were men and women of all ages waiting for him, though most of the population was curiously white. Guess diversity hadn’t hit Pasture Down yet. It was the kind of place where one half of the population farmed and the other half worked in the mines, and anyone who strayed from those choices of profession was looked at with suspicion.

  “You goddamn thief son of a bitch,” shouted a woman old enough to be Ash’s grandma.

  They had blocked the exit now as if they were challenging him to run them over. For the first time he felt his skin start to itch. This was becoming a little too real. Maybe he should have just skipped town straight away.

  “Judas got nothing on you, you thieving little scumbag,” shouted a man wearing a vicar’s collar.

  He had only one thought on his mind now; he had to get to his car. In there, with the doors locked and windows up, he’d be safe. He could blast out the radio to drown out their abuse and if any of them punched his car and dented it, he’d claim on his insurance. If he had to run any of them over trying to leave, then that was their fault for standing in the way.

  A man in dark blue jeans and a Knick’s shirt strode across the parking lot. His fists were clenched, and from the swell of his arm muscles it looked like he was used to throwing punches. Ash focussed on his car. Just a few strides across the lot and he was out of there.

  As he got nearer to his vehicle, a man stepped from the hummer next to it and blocked Ash’s way. The Knicks guy covered the parking lot distance and soon he too stood in the way of his escape. A woman, with a single string of her fringe dyed purple, took a set of keys from out of her purse, smiled at Ash and then scratched them across the Mercedes from the windshield to the bottom of the bumper. As the key tore across the paintwork, he wanted to put his hands to his ears.

  The Knicks guy took shallow breaths and his cheeks looked ready to boil. As he stared at Ash his eyes became little black balls that seemed to burn with the fire. Ash didn’t feel so confident with anger anymore. His practiced words and slippery gestures left him, and he didn’t know how he was going to get out of this.

  The people started to close in on him in a circle. Pretty soon he’d be in the centre of it, and he could almost feel the punches and kicks that were going to come his way. The only thing that stopped him going completely out of his mind was the idea of Georgia at home. The reason for it all, the only thing that made this crap job worthwhile.

  “Gonna get my money back by carving you up,” said the Knicks guy. From the growl in his voice, Ash knew that he meant it.

  He looked over the shoulders of the man and his heart jumped. At the end of the parking lot, leaning against her cruiser and smoking the life out of a roll-up cigarette, was Sheriff Ellie Ashurst. Ash couldn’t tell if she’d seen him, but there was no way she could have missed the angry mob. So why wasn’t she coming over to investigate?

  “Hey,” he shouted. “Sheriff Ashurst.”

  When the sheriff flicked her cigarette and looked the other way, Ash realised that he’d scammed her out of money too. He remembered that she made him cheap-tasting coffee and filled in the paperwork from an arrest while he persuaded her to give him her savings.

  The mob closed in and Ash realised that help wasn’t going to come. He couldn
’t get to his car, and he sure as hell couldn’t fight. This beating had been a long time coming, and he’d always known that. Somehow, he thought he might get away with it. Just long for Georgia to… It didn’t matter. He was about to get his head smashed in.

  As Ash braced for the first blow, the crowd parted. A man pushed his way into the middle. He faced the crowd and held out his hands to stop them moving closer.

  “This isn’t going to solve squat,” he said. “All it's gonna get you is a night in Ellie Ashurst's cells. And don’t think it’s not big enough for all you folks. This bastard might have drained us dry, but the people of Pasture Down don’t take an eye for an eye.”

  “I’ll gladly take his eyes,” said the Knicks guy.

  “You’re ignorant, Kenny Reedley. And it’s time you learned to stop your tongue running away from your brain.”

  The crowd, with their anger dissipated for the time being, began to drift away. Ash breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he’d come close this time.

  “Thanks,” he said to the man. “Didn’t catch your name?”

  The man smiled sadly.

  “Shame you can’t catch my name now, but you sure as hell had no problem cashing my check. Name’s Tony Shore, you son of a bitch. Now you better leave town before they start queuing up to kill you.”

  Chapter 2

  When night fell on a place like Pasture Downs, it fell fast. The sky above looked like a black duvet sprinkled with silver glitter, and when the stars blinked, it almost looked beautiful. Ash felt himself start to get drowsy, and that wasn’t a good idea when he was going at seventy miles per hour. He wound down the window and let the cold breeze slap his skin, but even that couldn’t cut through the need to sleep.

  He slowed the car to five miles per hour and then turned off the road. He killed the engine. He was still over two hundred miles from the Bolton tunnel, the only passage way through the Lantern mountain range that separated him from the city. The geography around him reminded Ash of footage of the moon; nothing but rocks and dirt for miles on end. Somewhere east of Pasture Down was a forest, and apparently there was a national park nearby. If someone was in the mind for it, they could get through to the city by driving over the mountains, but if they decided to do that, they better have a week set aside for the trip.

  Ash and his dad used to go on camping trips. They’d say bye to mom, load the van and then head to the forest where they’d spend a week hunting, fishing and brooding in silence. His dad always looked a little more content when he got away from it all. Not happy, but just free from the crushing weight of his job and having to support a family. He’d taught Ash a whole manner of survival skills on their trips, but over the years Ash had let the knowledge slip from his mind. He just hoped there would never come a time when he needed to remember it.

  He pulled out his mobile and hit the speed-dial. Three rings later, a groggy woman answered.

  “You better not be drunk,” she said.

  “Miss you too, hon,” said Ash.

  Georgia cleared her throat. She’d probably been in bed for a few hours. That was her usual routine. TV until eight, then a book in bed until nine. It pretty much went that way every night, especially since their last doctor’s appointment. After seeing the doc, Ash decided to let her have her routine. There was no point him making the effort to go to bed at the same time as her if there was nothing doing. The baby wasn’t going to come without IVF, and Ash was going to have to scam a few more towns until they could afford that.

  “Seriously,” she said. “I’ve got a meeting at eight. I’m not in the mood for Drunken Ash Time.”

  “Gimme a break.”

  A pause. Then she said “You sound upset.”

  He reached under the chair of the driver’s seat and twisted the handle. The chair reclined a little.

  “I’m fine hon. Honestly. Listen, I’m coming back tonight.”

  “Really? Thought you were setting off tomorrow.”

  “I was, but I miss you.”

  “Me too.”

  That didn’t sound genuine, thought Ash.

  Sometimes he wondered what kept them married. For Ash, they were glued together for the rest of their lives, and that was that. He sure as hell was never going to divorce, because he’d seen what happened to his brothers after mom and dad split. But he could never tell what Georgia was thinking. He wished he had a manual he could flick through, kind of like a survival guide but for marriage. It certainly would have made his life a hell of a lot easier. The fact was that they didn’t have fun anymore. They lived together, but didn't enjoy life together. They were sort of drifting. It felt like they weren’t compatible sometimes, like an overweight guy trying on a suit four times too small. You either lose weight, or you ditch the suit. Ash was trying damn hard to make the suit fit.

  “What the hell?” said Georgia. Her voice dragged him out of his thoughts.

  “Sorry, I zoned out there a little.”

  “No not you,” she said in a quieter voice.

  “You got someone there with you?”

  “I heard someone.”

  Ash’s pulse began to fire.

  “Heard someone where?”

  “In the house.”

  He swallowed, but a lump was growing in his throat. For a second he felt like he was burning up and wanted to let the breeze in, but the car window was already wound down.

  “Georgia, tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Shh. I heard someone.”

  “Probably the house settling,” said Ash.

  “It’s definitely not that. The stairs just creaked.”

  Georgia’s voice quietened to a whisper, and there was a panic in it that Ash had never heard before. Georgia didn’t scare easily, and she was a hell of a lot tougher than her thin frame suggested. He wanted to hang up and call the police, but he didn’t want to leave Georgia alone. He felt powerless.

  “Is the landline next to the bed?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  He swallowed, and his throat felt like sandpaper.

  “Then you better call the police.”

  “Oh my god, Ash. He’s on the landing. He’s walking toward the bedroom.”

  Ash felt like screaming. He wanted to fire up the car and drive at a thousand miles per hour, but even if that were possible he would still be too late. His heart beat so fast it felt like his chest was going to explode.

  “Listen Georgia, you gotta call the police.”

  “He just rattled the door handle, Ash. He’s coming in.”

  “Call the police. Now.”

  “The door’s opening. Oh my god.”

  Ash was going to shout at her and beg her to call the police, but suddenly the line went dead.

  “Goddamn it,” he said.

  He tapped the speed-dial number on the phone and tried to get her back, but it wouldn’t ring. He pressed nine-one-one, but couldn’t get the familiar dial tone. Then he realised that the display on his phone was dead.

  What a goddamn time for this to happen.

  He felt like he was going out of his mind with worry. The only thing he could think was that his phone battery had drained, so he was going to have to gun it back to town to get to a phone. They could all beat the crap out of him for all he cared, but he had to get back and call the police. Georgia might have been hundreds of miles away, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to do something.

  He twisted the key in the ignition, but instead of the roar of the engine there was a dull silence. The only sound was the breeze as it brushed the leaves of a nearby pine tree, and a tin can as it rattled its way along the road.

  Ash looked at his dashboard and he realised that the lights had gone out. First his phone, now his car. What the hell was he going to do? He opened the car door, stepped out onto the ground and prepared himself for a long walk back to Pasture.

  By the time he got back to town his feet ached and his head throbbed. He had grabbed a half-full water bottle from his c
ar, but he’d drained it dry hours ago. He remembered the survival rule of three that his dad had taught him; you can go three minutes without breathing, three days without drinking and three weeks without eating. Luckily the air was fine, but his body ached for water.

  As he got to the first street in town he went by Farley’s liquor store. The light on the front, usually illuminated, was dark. There was a car parked outside, and two guys stood in front of an open bonnet.

  “Check the oil,” said one. He had a dirty rag over his shoulder as though he was a waiter.

  Another man, tall with beefy shoulders, shook his head in contempt. “Oil doesn’t have anything to do with the dashboard, you dolt.”

  “Cars are funny things.”